Acquisition
by littlemusings
Summary: Kurt Hummel longs to see and live in a world outside of the Foundation's borders. Blaine Anderson just wants to become an officer, overthrow the Foundation, and make the Rebellion proud. The two meet, by chance, one autumn evening, and they both shake up each others' worlds in ways they never knew possible. Dystopian AU. Klaine.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, for it is owned by RIB, FOX and its parent company. I just write using the show's characters for fun-nor do I own any of T.S. Eliot's marvelous poems. I _do_ own a laptop. But that's irrelevant.

* * *

_**Acquisition**_

I. Gravitation

_Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins  
Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own,  
Capricious monotone  
_- T.S. Eliot, "Portrait of a Lady"

* * *

It all started when Rachel didn't show up for work after lunch: when he didn't hear the obnoxious _tak-tak-tak_ of her fingers on her keyboard at the cubicle across from him, her voice calling out the names of patients to pick up their records.

Kurt wasn't so sure as to how he would comfort her. Verbally? Physically? Rachel Berry practically lived an erratic whirlwind of emotions (he had to admit that he did, too—on occasion, of course)—and despite knowing her since they were in high school back around the time they lived with their families on the outskirts of the capital of the Foundation, he knew that in times like these, she was seemingly inconsolable but usually came around on her own.

But this time, her breakup with Finn Hudson, which seemed to be final—_forever final_, was akin to an atomic bomb dropping on their apartment. Kurt had received a text from Rachel just minutes ago:

_Going home early. Finn ended it. -R _

With that, Kurt knew that the last salvo between Finn and Rachel had been fired. Usually, Rachel's texts to him were long, winding, and blatantly verbose, but this text was the evidence of how _badly_ this had affected her. She and Finn had been arguing constantly for the past few weeks over many things (stupid things, in Kurt's opinion), and things finally hit rock bottom when they found out that Finn would be transferring to the Southeastern Sector of country, as he was newly assigned to the construction of the new Justice Building there.

_Where on earth are you? _–_K_

As if on cue, he heard the soft _beep, beep_ of the door lock and keypad and their front door slid open, Rachel walking in slowly as if in a daze. Kurt dropped his phone on their couch and walked over to her, opening his arms. She looked so small, so broken and lost as she walked right up to him and threw her arms around his waist, bawling her eyes out.

"It's over," she sobbed, soaking the front of his white buttoned-down work shirt. "It's all…it's over, and I can't—"

He rubbed her back gently. "Shhh."

"—Said that I didn't care for his dreams—"

_We all don't have any dreams here_, Kurt thought pointedly, looking out the window of their apartment forlornly.

"—That…that we've both reached our—our limits and that—"

"Honey, _breathe_," Kurt said worriedly, holding her shoulders tightly as if attempting to ground her back into reality.

"I need to go out," Rachel said suddenly, pulling away. She turned around and went straight for the front door. "Don't follow, Kurt!"

"Rachel, _what the fuck_?" Kurt shouted, following her—but she slammed the door in his face. He leaned against the back of the door, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "God_damn _it!"

He pulled out his phone and dialed his stepbrother's number quickly off the top of his head. Three beeps informed him that Finn's phone was off, and he stuffed his phone back in his pocket angrily. Taking a deep breath, he turned on his heel and opened the door, slamming it shut behind him to go look for his roommate.

* * *

"You ready for this? Are you absolutely, positively sure that you are?"

"Duh, Coop. I've been training for this."

"This is the First Leap, Blaine, you can't just—"

"—Oh, shut up." Blaine Anderson let out a little chuckle, shrugging off his dark coat as he and his older brother, Cooper, made their way down the dimly lit corridor towards the launch pads. He folded it over his right arm as they turned a corner and gave his brother a smirk.

Cooper let out a sigh, folding his arms, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "This is level 3000 stuff, squirt." Blaine turned around to face him.

"Don't call me that. And there is _no _such thing as 'Level 3000,' Cooper," Blaine admonished, giving his brother an incredulous look. "You of _all _people should know that, Officer Anderson."

"Hey, I'm going to call you squirt for as _long as you live_ because I've been calling you that since we were kids. Also, since I _am _an officer—and a damn good one at that, according to Officer Lopez—"

"Santana was drunk off her ass when she told you that, and her sarcasm reaches nuclear levels when she's inebriated."

Cooper rolled his eyes and sighed again, looking at his brother warily. "Blaine, I'm being serious here. You know, you could have chosen a different mission and denied this one—"

"I picked this one. I picked it, which means that I'm going to go through with it."

"This is your _First Leap_," Cooper groaned. "Blaine, you can't just _waltz _into the Capital of Foundation on your _First Leap_. Talk about suicide!"

"Who says this is a suicide mission?"

"Um, _everyone in the damn underground city_ knows that stepping into the city up above is a death wish," Cooper stated matter-of-factly, shaking his head. Blaine bit his lower lip and hugged his sweater to his chest. "Blaine, you still have a bit of time left to reject this mission. What the hell are you trying to prove, anyway?"

Blaine leaned against the right-hand wall of the corridor and slid down to sit. Cooper sat down next to him immediately. "I just…I don't want to stay _here _anymore. Underground. I just…I want to help everyone out, okay?" he muttered, picking at nonexistent lint on his coat.

"I know what you mean, Blaine. I was pretty brash while choosing my First Leap, too," Cooper said with a shrug. "I mean I want to help overthrow the Foundation—don't get me wrong. I know you want to. Santana _always _talks about wanting to shove Elspeth Fanning up the asshole of the President."

Blaine laughed at the mention of the President of Foundation's Speaker—a blonde, tiny, pink-loving woman in her early twenties. "The way she gives his speeches makes her seem like she wants to screw him into oblivion."

Cooper punched his brother playfully. "You remember how I was when I received my First Leap mission?"

"Always giving me advice about rolling, leaping and ducking. Trust me, I was thirteen. I remember _very clearly_."

"You know where those got me."

"A year on probation. I _told _you that constantly ducking between random things on the street was dangerous," Blaine chastised. Cooper rolled his eyes and let out a sigh.

"We're happy for you, really—everyone in the city is," Cooper said softly, "but the thing is, none of us want you to get hurt. The First Leap is thrilling, exciting—makes you feel like a man. Brings all the girls and boys to the yard—in your case, the guys—and all of that cool stuff—but in the end, it's all a matter of life and death, especially since you're doing this First Leap _alone _and in the _Capital_, of all places. At least I had Quinn's older sister with me, or I would have died on the streets. The reason why HQ gave you this lone mission was that you are _smarter _than me.

"They gave you the option of accepting or declining—practically picking whatever mission you wanted off the top of the list because this is _dangerous_. You're more liable to get hurt despite all of the amazing grades and training you received at the Academy—because this is _your first mission_. They trusted you with this one in the first place because you _are capable of doing this_. That was the point. But the thing is, no matter how capable you think you are of doing something, there's always something there that'll lead to your end. You might choke, and it'll all be over."

Blaine swallowed thickly and looked at his brother intently as he said all of this. "Cooper, I know I can do it."

"_You can_, Blainey. It's just that…I'm proud of you, okay? I want you to do this—but it can kill you."

"I'm not going to get myself killed or injured on my first try," Blaine replied, laughing. "And, thanks, Coop…it really means a lot that you said that."

"You're my brother, of course I have to be supportive," Cooper chuckled. Blaine gave him a small smile—he wouldn't have said that several years ago. "Just remember: be inconspicuous. Meld in with the people. You've done enough psychological research on Capital citizens. _More _than enough. Learn from my mistakes."

"Got it."

Cooper stood up and took a deep breath, holding his hand out to his brother. "Ready for this, soon-to-be Officer?"

"Yeah." Blaine took it and his brother pulled him up. The two of them walked down the hallway, saluting several officers who passed by them in a hurry, and finally arrived at the main Launch Area, where people in the standard military uniforms—khaki slacks and a white, buttoned-down short sleeved shirt, with their pins and ribbons trailing down the left-hand side of their polo shirts—were hustling and bustling about. Blaine had been to the Launch Area countless times—to watch his friends (who had turned twenty either last year or earlier this year) take their First Leap, and his brother take his seven years ago as well.

The Launch Area was enormous—flecked with hues of grey and white, lit up by the weak fluorescent lights hanging above. The Area, like the rest of the Rebellion Camp, was underground—the only natural light that flitted in came from a patch on the ceiling that served as a patrol exit, a long and winding staircase protruding from the platform that was set up directly underneath it.

Blaine always loved looking around the Launch Area; it seemed like it spanned an entire lifetime because of its immense size. To him, every time he entered was like his first time: daunting, wonderful, and frightening all at the same time.

Cooper shook him out of his reverie, and gripped his shoulders, pushing him towards the East Wing—where First Leaps and missions were initiated. Occasionally, he and Cooper saluted to higher-ranking officers as they wove through the throngs of uniformed service people.

The two of them finally stopped in front of the large, cool metal doors leading to the East Wing. The doors were emblazoned with black and yellow caution signs: _Authorized Personnel Only_, it read—no, practically screamed. Cooper pressed a button on the side of the door, and with a loud groan, the doors slid apart, and Blaine had to catch his breath as they entered the pristine white Leap Area. It was the newest section of the Launch Area: Cooper and his friends had taken their First Leaps in the old section of the East Wing. The ceiling was lower in this new area, but the walls and floors were made of perfect, immaculately white tile and other material. Several engineers sat at their desks, _typing _away at their keyboards and answering calls. Blaine wondered how they even got the material to create such a beautiful looking wing, worthy of the Foundation's Capital.

A young, blonde haired and blue-eyed woman in an all-white uniform appeared, wielding a clipboard and wearing the cap of a First-Class Officer. Blaine and Cooper saluted immediately.

"Frannie Fabray," Cooper winked once they finished with formalities. Frances Fabray rolled her eyes and smiled back. "Great to see you."

"You saw me this morning at _breakfast_, Anderson," she said with a laugh, looking around quickly—no one was paying attention—and pecked him on the cheek. "Hi, Blaine. Ready for your First Leap?"

Blaine shrugged. "I…yeah," he said with a nervous smile. Frances patted his shoulder comfortingly and flipped through the paperwork on her clipboard.

"Now let's see what your first mission is…oh…the…Capital," she said hesitantly, looking to Cooper for reassurance. Cooper nodded gravely. "This is a Rank S mission—you know that, Blaine."

"Mmhmm," Blaine nodded slowly. "I'm going for it."

"I already gave him a pep talk out in the hall," Cooper sighed. "He's unyielding."

Frances hesitated. "You know, Blaine—Quinn's first mission was on the outskirts—"

"—Of the city to bug the security cameras, yeah, I remember. Hers was a few months ago, right?" Blaine said convivially, smiling. Frances nodded. "She was successful, I remember her telling me about it."

Frances opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it into a smile, hugging the clipboard to her chest. "Yes…now…come on. Let's get you suited up and ready for your first mission."

Cooper pushed Blaine forward and to the left by the shoulders down an equally white corridor, past more uniformed people running about. Frances led the way and finally, they reached the end of the hall: the door to the latest Launch Room. She punched a key code into the lock and the door slid open smoothly, and Blaine was greeted by a smaller version of the Launch Area outside of this pristine, boxed and new office area, sans the staircase to the world above. As Cooper and Frances went to inspect the area, Blaine looked around. There were four people working at the various computers and before them lay the circular pad in all of its shiny, silver glory.

Blaine immediately recognized one of them: a young woman, about his age, with sleek, black hair put up in a tight ponytail, wearing the same uniform as Frances—except it hugged her figure more and that it was black, signifying that she was the rank that Blaine was going to earn if he succeeded on his mission: officer, third class.

"Lopez."

Santana Lopez gave him a smirk and folded her arms, straightening up immediately. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Geltastic Gay? Getting ready for your First Leap? You best be ready, Anderson, or I'm going to kick your ass if you die on this mission."

Blaine chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing his friend to give him a hug. Santana patted his back gently and held him by the shoulders. "Nice to see you too, Santana."

"Are you really sure you want to do this one? 'Cause I'm willing to take it for you. Goddamn, why did you get this one? You've got balls."

She let go of him and he followed her towards her computer, sitting down next to her, wringing his wrists nervously.

"Honest to god, I'm kinda nervous," he mumbled, casting a glance over at Frances and Cooper who were talking together in hushed voices.

"Don't be," she scoffed, leaning back in her chair lazily. "All you have to do is focus. You're going into the Capital, Anderson. I wish I had _that _for my First Leap. I would have stopped complaining about these damn uniforms if I got to punch Elspeth Fanning in the fucking face."

"You don't look half bad in them, though, Lopez," Blaine said earnestly, patting her shoulder. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Thanks. Don't let Britt hear you say that. Anyway, just call me up, or call Montgomery over there she said, jabbing her thumb over at Wes Montgomery, who was a Second Class Officer, who was typing away at his computer.—If you are in need of an S.O.S. team so we can save your sorry ass."

"Duly noted. Hey, Wes," Blaine called out. Wes looked up, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline.

"Hey there, Blaine," Wes waved. "You ready?"

"That seems to be the question of the day—but…I guess," Blaine replied, shrugging. Cooper and Frances walked back towards them and signaled for Blaine to get ready.

"Okay, Blaine, here you go," Frances said, handing him a bundle. Blaine opened it: it was a Foundation Citizen's work uniform: a white, buttoned-down shirt and black slacks with a skinny black tie and the Foundation logo on the left breast pocket. "You're going to need to dress into this once you find somewhere to hide."

"Got it."

"Blaine, take a seat over there—we're going to brief you on your mission now," Wes called out. Blaine stood up, gripped Santana's hand tightly, and let go as he made his way over to sit in a plastic chair next to Cooper and Frances. Wes, Santana, and the other officers in the room looked at each other and then started typing away at their computers, and a large hologram appeared over their heads, showing a map of the Capital.

"Your mission for your First Leap is to get into the office of the Speaker and attain the plans for the new weapons they are developing, and to find out _why _they are developing them," Frances began. "Wes, the details."

"Blaine, your mission for today, or however long it'll take you will involve quite a lot of things," Wes began seriously, tracing patterns over his computer screen. The hologram above their heads shifted and zoomed into the city streets of Foundation—pristine, perfect, and eerie. Buildings lined either side of the streets, and simulated people walked silently like ghosts along the sidewalks as holographic silver shooters—the prime method of transportation in the city—made their way up and down the asphalt.

"First of all, we are going to Leap you right into the edge of the Capital, also known as the Gloam," Frances continued—Santana was now shifting the hologram to show the darker side of the Capital—it looked more run-down than the previous slide he had seen. Santana pressed a button, and the hologram of the Gloam spun slowly, giving him a perfect 360-degree view of the area. "The Gloam is also known as the 'relatively illegal' side of the city, where drunkards, druggies, and the like are found. It's basically the center of the Foundation Black Market. Also, you can find various bars and illegal item contraband warehouses scattered across this area."

"But won't that draw attention to me?"

"We're Leaping you into one of our hideouts in the Gloam. It's disguised as an old grocery store called City Convenience."

"City Convenience. Got it," Blaine muttered, nodding as he continued to stare at the screen.

"Once you're in, one of our agents—you know Evans, right? He'll be there to keep on the lookout for you."

"Sam? Samuel Evans?"

"No, Sammy Davis, junior," Santana said sarcastically. "Yeah, Trouty Mouth. His birthday was last month so his First Leap was then, too. We gave him the stakeout position for this mission."

"Okay, at least I know him," Blaine nodded slowly.

"You will then change into your Foundation Citizen gear. Your name in the city will be Everett Blankenship."

"Okay, who came up with that?" Blaine asked disgustedly. Wes and Santana gave each other a quick high-five. "Screw you both."

"That is _not_ how you talk to your higher-ups, little Blaine," Santana laughed.

"_Anyway_," Frances snapped, "You will be from the Western Sector of the country and your 'sector,' rather, your newly minted job in Foundation as a twenty year old—if asked of you—will a page in the House of the Speaker, and the other details—you make them up as you go with what you learned. Remember _everything_. We have also made you an I.D., which you can find in the breast pocket of your uniform."

"Don't worry, I will," Blaine nodded seriously.

"Sam will then hand you an extra map for the Speaker's House, which is located south of the Gloam, and close to the main Residency Area. Be sure to _not _leave the City Convenience if it is past curfew, or you're screwed. The Night Patrols will be out, and that means death."

"Death. Got it," Blaine mumbled, gulping. Cooper gave him a worried look and patted his shoulder gently.

"Once you are able to go out, head over to the House and introduce yourself as the new page. We had Santana and Puck hack into the system to create a Citizen Profile for you. You'll get in instantly."

"Let's hope so," Cooper said seriously, nodding to Santana, who rolled her eyes.

"Of _course_, Prince Eric. Now shut your mouth."

"Exc_use_ me, Lopez, but do you know who you're talking to?"

"Oooh, a first class officer. I'm _frightened_."

"Can you two _please_ shut up?" Blaine snapped. "I know that ranks are oh-so 'important,' but so is this mission."

Santana and Cooper glared at each other and looked back up at the ceiling hologram.

"When you get in, you'll report to Elspeth Fanning—the Speaker—herself. The minute you are sent out on an errand, or are alone—when Fanning is gone, of course, your job is to acquire the necessary files by sneaking into her office and breaking into the safe behind her large portrait of the Dictator."

"Wait—she put it _there_? Seriously? That's so obvious!"

Wes spun around in his chair. "Oh, the primary reason why we gave you this mission option is because you're the master of hacking and decoding."

Blaine stared at all of them, and back at the hologram, nodding slowly. He _did _get the highest scores on his final practical exams at the Training Academy.

Frances continued"High security measures have been taken to make sure her military files are kept safe and away from prying eyes. You may encounter—"

After examining the hologram, Blaine interrupted. "I'm guessing that there are two specially placed and secret indentations on either side of the safe's walls behind cheaply-produced portraits hung on either side of the safe for silver shooters to break through cleanly in case anyone besides Fanning opens that safe, along with several high-security and fiber-thin strings, super-fine, laced with micro-glass lining the front of the safe, threatening to slice up an intruder's hands if he attempts to open the safe manually—which consequently triggers the Silver Shooters. I'm guessing that Fanning turns off the alarms and the fibers when she needs to get the files herself. There are also many cameras lining her office, that are only shut off when she says she wants them to, and since she _is _the Speaker, the cameras are only turned on when she leaves the office for the night. These are easy things to break through—they're gaudy, obvious, and theatrical. Just like her."

Everyone stared at Blaine in silence; Cooper patting his brother's back and smiling smugly.

"And do you have a plan Frances asked.

"All it takes is for me to disable the cameras, the fiber wires, and the alarms. No…no biggie," Blaine said firmly, smiling, hands folded in his lap.

Frances gave him a concerned glance. "Okay, Blaine. I think you're ready. You know how to get back to headquarters. Just—"

"—Call you guys as soon as I grab the files so that I can Leap out of there."

Frances cleared her throat and straightened her posture.

"Okay. Suit up. It's time for your First Leap."

* * *

Kurt hated walking around the streets of the Capital in the dark—the streets at night always emanated a terrible vibe and as time ticked closer and closer towards curfew, he could feel the soft hum of Silver Shooters get ready to make their rounds about the streets. He pulled his state-issued coat closed even closer to his chest and emanated a puff of cold air, shivering as he dodged by people who were already hurrying inside to their respective Blocs. He tried calling Rachel again, but to no avail, she denied his calls.

There was only one possible place that she could be: the Gloam, the main forbidden spot in the city—the place of vagabonds and drunkards. He had been there one too many times—many of these visits involved Rachel and her rocky romance with Finn Hudson. He pulled his dark hood over his head and ducked into the alleyway that many citizens took, ducking behind lampposts: he knew many of the posts contained cameras.

As he neared the end of the long alleyway, he could see a sliver of light from behind the doorway at the end, and he quickened his pace. Breathing a sigh of relief as he approached the doorway, he knocked twice, stopped for two seconds, and then knocked three times—the code to enter the Gloam. The door opened, and he slipped in, not bothering to look behind him. The door slammed shut and Kurt found himself in the glowing, hazy world of the Gloam, where prostitutes walked about arm-in-arm with people Kurt recognized from work in the office he and Rachel were assigned to at the Hospital. He didn't bother to greet them.

He turned several street corners until he reached the "hot spot" of the Gloam—one of its biggest (and cheapest) nightclubs. Quickly tipping the bouncer several FoundCash dollars, he hurried in to search for his best friend.

Kurt sighed. It was going to be a _very_ long night.

* * *

Santana and Wes saluted him as he walked towards the Leap Pad, and Frances looked incredibly wary.

"Remember the first rule, Blaine," Cooper muttered to Blaine. Blaine nodded in reply, his throat suddenly feeling dry as Cooper led him to the Pad—a small, white circle in the middle of an even greater grey pad.

"'_Don't be seen by citizens unless on long-term reconnaissance missions_, Blaine managed to mumble.

"You got it, Squirt. I'm proud of you."

Blaine gave his brother a panicked expression. He took a deep breath and stepped onto the pad, standing ramrod straight as a clear glass panels converged around him, blocking him from Cooper. Cooper pressed his hands against the glass, and Blaine did likewise, breathing shakily.

"Do you think—do you think mom and dad would have been proud of me?"

Cooper nodded. "So, so proud of you, Blainey. Come back in one piece, okay?"

"I will."

Blaine looked up from his brother and saw Frances standing behind him. Cooper turned around and nodded, rushing with her back to the control panel with Santana, Wes, and the two other Leap Controllers.

"If you come back dead, Burt Reynolds, I'm going to throw a fucking fit," Santana shouted. Blaine laughed and positioned himself—ramrod straight, arms to his sides.

He nearly jumped with shock when he felt the platform beneath his feet rise, but closed his eyes, breathed in and out gently, and regained his composure.

"Remember, Blaine, to twist once you enter Empty Space. If you twist too late, something might happen to you once you rematerialize in the Capital—you might get injured," Wes said seriously. "Use your watch to contact us if anything happens to you, _right away_."

A circular panel above his head opened, and Blaine shivered a little: it was air from _above_. He could see tiny flecks of light dotting the night sky above him. His curls danced in the breeze.

"Ready for First Leap Launch. Pad safe and secure, Officer Fabray," Wes stated.

Frances bent over and pressed a few buttons on the control pad. "Prospective Officer Blaine Anderson. Twenty. Blood pressure under control, body temperature stable. Ready for Leap."

Blaine braced himself.

"Leaping in five, four, three, two…"

Blaine opened his eyes and saw his feet fading slowly, and the Pad was starting to spin.

"One."

The Pad spun at a tremendously rapid speed and the next thing Blaine felt was akin to being sucked up by a vacuum; the last thing he saw being Cooper's hands folded, fingers twined together and propped under his chin as Frances kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

And then…nothing.

* * *

He found her.

"Rachel, you are _drunk_," Kurt shouted as the music and the ridiculously loud—and unnecessary, in his opinion—bass that accompanied it thudded in his ears painfully. He had gone through hell and back to find his best friend in the goddamn club—which was, in his opinion, poorly named _Seventh Heaven_ (it was not in the least bit happy nor particularly _virtuous_)—and pushed through many a couple bumping and grinding on the dance floor to finally find her heavily making out with a man in an already half-unbuttoned polo shirt and tight jeans. _Probably thanks to Rachel_, he thought with a wistful sigh.

"Go _away_," Rachel whined loudly as Kurt grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the now unimpressed and frustrated man"_Hey, come back, sweetheart!"_). Kurt pursed his lips and pulled her away from the crowd, towards the foyer, and out the door and onto the street past the very amused bouncer. Rachel pushed Kurt away and teetered to the right, nearly falling over.

Kurt sighed and caught her. "Gotcha, Paris."

"'M _not_ Paris, I'm _Rachel. _Who's _Paris? _Your girlfriend? I thought you were _gay_," Rachel complained loudly, sticking her tongue out. Kurt's nose wrinkled at the smell of vodka on her breath.

"Yes, honey, I _know_ that, and no, Paris isn't my girlfriend, and yes, I'm still gay," Kurt said patiently, hitching her arm over his shoulders, guiding her down the main part of the street and out of the Gloam so that he could hail them a Shooter Taxi. "It's almost curfew, and you _know _Seventh is illegal."

"You are _so…so _consciewentisis," she said dully as Kurt whistled and gestured for a nearby Silver Shooter to pick them up.

"Conscientious," he replied with the same, uninterested tone as a silver hovercraft halted in front of them, the hologram driver turning his capped head towards them. "Bloc 24," he announced. The hologram nodded, and the side of the Shooter opened, holographic grid stairs protruding from the doorway. Kurt lugged the very noncommittal Rachel up the stairs and finally got her to sit down as the Shooter zoomed down the grid and towards their neighborhood.

Rachel rested her head on Kurt's shoulder and unceremoniously threw her arms around his torso, surprising him. "Kurtsie," she hiccupped, "I love you. You're my bestest friend and _super _cute."

"I'll only take that as a compliment when you're finally sober and say that without hint of qualm," Kurt chuckled as the wind whipped through their hair as the Shooter drove about the bright streets of Foundation, past the apartment blocs and away from the Gloam, the darker, shadier and nocturnal side of town.

"Qualms, shmalms, you know I'm telling the truth," she said, nuzzling her cheek on his shoulder affectionately. Kurt rolled his eyes and put his arm over her shoulders once more.

"Drunken words are sober thoughts, so I guess I'll take you on it for once," Kurt said bemusedly as the Shooter finally came to a halt outside of Bloc 24, which was one of the many large, tall and looming apartment building in the city. He fished in his pockets for FoundCash, and pulled out three light blue bills stamped with the Foundation crest—and slipped them into the payment slot. The door to the Shooter opened again, the stairs appearing, and Kurt led Rachel down and into the building and then, the elevator.

_Bloc 24D_, he thought with a sigh as the cool metal doors slid open. He pulled a still giggling Rachel into it and pressed the _D_ button. As soon as the doors closed, he held onto Rachel tightly and braced himself as the elevator shot up several floors until it came to a jarring halt at _D_. Kurt opened his eyes and let out a shuddering breath—he would _never _be used to the speed of the Bloc elevators.

"We're _home_!" Rachel squealed as Kurt rolled his eyes and pulled her by the hand towards their door—the only one on Bloc 24D. Digging into his satchel for their keys, he watched wistfully as Rachel ran around the foyer of their floor.

_No, never letting her out after a breakup ever again_.

Upon finding the keys, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, and Rachel dashed inside and plopped onto the couch, snuggling against the pillows. Kurt let out a snort and shut the door—and that was when he heard the nightly announcement blast from their Bloc speakers.

"_Citizens must be within the confines of their Blocs at this time. The Night Patrols will punish subservient citizens. Any man, woman, or child found at the Gloam at the end of this announcement will be arrested and tried immediately. That is all. _Fundamenta inconcussa, et arte et labore_._"

"_Arte et labore_," Kurt whispered, folding his arms and watching Rachel finally get comfortable. He walked over and sat next to her.

"Kurtsie, you took me away from the guy who was kissing me," she whispered into the pillow she was snuggling. Kurt stared at her. He was expecting this now that they were home. "He loved me; that wasn't fair, Kurtsie."

"If _that_ was love, then we'd all have some sort of hope in this world," Kurt said sardonically, rolling his eyes. Rachel's eyes glistened with unshed tears. It was better to be blunt rather than discreet with Rachel Berry.

"Did Finn love me?" she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut, grabbing Kurt's hand gently.

"I think he did—I'd like to think he did."

"Do you love me?"

Kurt patted the top of her head. "Of course. You're my best friend, Rachel, as much as I hate to admit it sometimes."

"Okay," she mumbled as she finally drifted off to sleep. Kurt walked over to the linen closet in the hallway between their living room and respective bedrooms, pulling out a large duvet. He walked back over to Rachel and threw it over her gently and tucked her in. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and leaned back against what little space he still had on the couch, gripping her hand.

* * *

Inconspicuous.

That was what he was told to be. Eyes glinting, heart racing, breath ragged, he made his way down the street, gripping his mangled right arm, wincing with each and every step he took. Blaine Anderson let out a grunt as he finally ducked into a dark alleyway when he finally caught his breath, the only source of light being a spot from the nearest streetlight—which was across the street. Panting, he slid down the wall onto his bottom, releasing his hand from his wound, grimacing at the sight of pooling blood, biting his bottom lip to stifle an agonized shout. He hadn't twisted properly once he entered the continuum between Spaces.

_So much for being inconspicuous._

He clamped his hand back on his wound, hard, to stem the bleeding and peered at the watch on his left wrist: 12:01AM.

_Great, _he thought darkly, _now I'm stuck here with no place to go_.

Everyone was right: the First Leap was always the hardest.

He most _definitely _wasn't at the Gloam, at the City Convenience where Sam was probably waiting for him. The street was unfamiliar territory; it looked nothing like Santana and Wes's holograms. It wasn't.

He had Leapt into the wrong place.

* * *

Kurt woke up in cold sweat, his heart racing wildly, head spinning. He ran a hand through his dark hair and stood up, letting go of Rachel's hand gently. He stood up, legs wobbly and shut his eyes, running a hand down his face. _Nightmares._ They were always the same. Falling through an empty, black, and cold abyss, swords being thrown, silent voices whispering in his ear, and before he reached the ground, he always woke up.

He looked out the window, arms folded, taking shaky breaths and shook his head. _Forget them. _He didn't quite understand _why _he was dreaming about these things-emptiness, darkness, and never-ending pain.

Kurt took one look back at Rachel bit his lower lip.

Screw the fact that it was past curfew, he would go downstairs and stand by the front door to get some air. As long as he was in his Bloc, the Patrols wouldn't get mad at him, right? He grabbed his coat from the rack in the foyer and quietly opened the door, walking towards the elevator. He braced himself as he stepped in, and the elevator zoomed down to the first floor in a matter of seconds.

Once he regained his footing and sense of balance, he walked towards the door and sat on the steps, hugging himself, staring at the dark, dimly lit streets of Blocs 20-30.

_There's seriously got to be more to this all_, he thought glumly. In the morning, he and Rachel would be back in the offices at the Hospital, conducting their monotonous routine of enter, punch, type, and send-enter, punch, type, and send.

He stood up and looked around nervously.

_Maybe...maybe a walk wouldn't be so bad_, he thought nervously. He walked down the last three steps and he felt...oddly rebellious as he stood on the sidewalk at three in the _fucking _morning.

He took another step to the left and walked incredibly slow-if he had to rush back to his Bloc, he would if he heard the familiar whiz of the Shooters. The early morning air was cool, comforting.

_Once in a while, Kurt. Once in a very long while, so cherish this_, he thought absently.

* * *

_What a goddamn shame_, Blaine thought to himself as he walked slowly down the streets of what he figured out were Blocs 20-30, gripping his arm. _If only Santana could see me now. And Cooper, damn it, Cooper's going to kill me_.

_But not if the Foundation kills me first._

He decided to forgo hiding in the alleyway, decided that it was a terrible idea to stay in one place—in his current state, he was _bound_ to be caught by the Foundation's Night Patrols and be discovered as a spy for the Rebellion straightaway. However, a part of him was frightened of being caught by the Night Patrols in the open streets. He had learned so much about them from School—that they were brutal, unforgiving, and ultimately, ruthless. Bestial. To the general public of Foundation, they were considered the peacekeepers of the evening.

He cursed himself internally for insisting to take on this as his very first on-the-field mission. Cooper had warned him about the First Leap. Frances had warned him. The first step into an actual Leap Pad would be dangerous; an unnecessary 'leap of faith,' as Wes so affectionately dubbed them back at the Training Academy. Everyone had told him.

It had totally gone wrong his first time, zapping him directly into the heart of the Blocs of the Foundation's downtown area.

Now, he had to find a place to stay, and suddenly, all of the survival lessons he had taken in school didn't mean a _goddamn _thing and casually flitted out of his mind like ribbons-_snip, snip, snip_.

Bleeding, cold, _fucking hungry_, extremely fatigued, and a potential target. _Great, just great_ he thought, looking around. He heard the sound of a Shooter whiz in his general direction and immediately put his watch to his wrist and used his chin to press one of the side buttons that immediately rendered him invisible. He backed up against the wall of a bloc building taking shallow, silent breaths as the Shooter zoomed by slowly, the holographic driver looking around.

_God bless Santana and these fucking watches_, he thought, closing his eyes and exhaling in relief as the Shooter drove out of sight. He tapped the button on his watch again-_god, my arm is so damn useless_, he thought pathetically, staring at his limp and bleeding arm. He then continued his silent sojourn down the street, desperately searching for a place to hide.

If there was _one _thing he remembered from survival lessons, it was that he had to find _shelter_.

Or, die.

He preferred the former.

Blaine's breaths were becoming even shallower. Lights began bouncing around and clouding his eyes. _No, please, oh, god, come _on.

He had two options: keep on with the mission or call headquarters immediately. The latter choice would embarrass him to no end—and despite wanting to lie down and get his arm treated, he didn't want to come back to headquarters and to the city empty handed, disappointing everyone from Cooper, to his late parents, to Frannie, Santana, Wes—_everyone_.

He couldn't have that.

Santana's voice echoed in his head. _"All you have to do is focus."_

And focus he would.

* * *

Kurt hadn't been caught. He felt _free_—felt happy that he had these few minutes—possibly hours now that he was certain that the Patrols had finished their rounds in this area—to himself. It had been ages since he had time for himself ever; he and Rachel being assigned to work in the Capital took away his 'me' time, his thinking time. He was always helping Rachel, always doing things for her, helping her with her love life and all of that petty nonsense he didn't really have to bother with in the first place but did anyway.

The streets seemed more peaceful, yet overly vigilant early in the morning. He walked behind lampposts, of course, to avoid getting caught and pulled his hood over his head to keep warm.

He remembered living back in Lima, a small, rural town on the outskirts of Foundation's Capital—up until a few months ago. Everything was so_ simple_, he thought. His educational career hadn't been an enjoyable one; as Lima was a relatively conservative area and blindly followed the Capital's laws, his sexuality wasn't very accepted by anyone but his father and his closely-knit group of friends from his high school's glee club.

_Ah, glee_, he thought sadly to himself. He missed performing. He used to live it, breathe it. He and Rachel both expected to be assigned to take on the Entertainment sector of the Capital, but they had been given the task of conducting clerical work at the main hospital instead, and were assigned to live with one another. He also missed being able to train with weaponry (namely sai swords) with his father's best friend and colleague, Jack Ryers, to keep up his strength. Life was a constant, boring thing in the Capital, and his sexuality was more 'loosely' accepted, but he _knew _there were people who still resented him, and he knew there was something _missing_.

He hated living under the firm fist of the Dictator, hated having his every move monitored. He wanted his own life, one that wasn't full of _punch, punch, type, type, tak-tak-tak-tak-ta_—

_Bam_.

Kurt was then unceremoniously pulled out of his thoughts as his body collided with another.

* * *

_Rule 1. Don't be seen by citizens unless on long-term reconnaissance missions._

Blaine froze in horror and continued to stare forward-only a neck and a torso, legs, and a head were blocking his way. He looked up and met a pair of bright blue eyes staring right back at him, glinting in the early morning light.

_Rule number one, broken_.

* * *

**Note: **Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! All of my gratitude goes to my beloved Blainers, Cat (aftermecomesthefloods) for the marvelous beta work! You can find me on Tumblr as well under **kingkurtsie, **and on LiveJournal as **minimalistmuse.**

Also, another note: the rating may go up in later chapters.


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